


What I Did On My Summer Vacation, By James T. Kirk

by silverlining99



Series: Learning [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Academy Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlining99/pseuds/silverlining99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is an evil genius, or something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Did On My Summer Vacation, By James T. Kirk

For all that Jim's course load during his first year at the Academy had made the academic dean nearly swallow his tongue, had made Bones shake his head in frequent exasperation, and had made Jim occasionally thank the dear sweet lord above for gracing him with some serious multitasking skills, the true magnitude of his determination to graduate in three years only hits him exactly one week after the year _ends_.

Which is, coincidentally enough, when summer session _begins_.

And _fuck_ , but he has to go right back to dragging himself to class. The alarm chimes at the ungodly hour of eight in the morning, and Jim pleads with it to stop while wondering if last night had really been the right time to conduct one of his occasional experiments into just how long Bones can be encouraged to fuck his brains out.

Especially since Bones had wound up committing such heroic feats that Jim can't quite decide if he's dealing with a statistical outlier or is gonna need to recalibrate the entire freaking bell curve, like, holy fucking _endurance_ , Bones. He'd fallen asleep on idle musings about whether his ass will ever actually recover enough to permit further data sampling, and he wakes on adamant certainty that he was wrong. He was _wrong_ , okay, he admits it; he's been a fool and Starfleet Academy is _not_ meant to be completed so quickly.

Bones elbows him when he goes too long without moving. "Jim," he mutters into a pillow. "Get up." Jim ignores him in favor of going back to drooling on his own arm. " _Jim_. You have class."

"Do not. I quit."

"Like hell you do." Bones swats at his head and starts flicking his ear repeatedly. "Up. _Now_."

"Bones," Jim whines. He flaps his hand to make the torment stop and mostly winds up smacking himself in the face. "Leave me alone! I wanna _sleep_. Here. With you. Lemme staaaaaaay."

"What, so you can blame me when your plan to become a new and special kind of Starfleet savant crashes and burns around you? I don't think so." Something suspiciously foot-shaped wedges against his _kidney_ , of all things, and Jim suddenly finds himself sprawled on the floor with a tangle of bedsheet trapping his legs. Bones wastes no time in reaching over the edge of the bed and yanking it back. "Go to class!"

"I hate you," Jim mumbles under his breath. He heaves himself off the floor and staggers away. "I hate you, I hate Starfleet, I hate fucking everything --"

"For the love of God, Jim, I'm trying to _sleep_ ," Bones barks. "Shut the hell up!"

Jim shoots a (particularly hateful) glare his way. "And I hate shutting up!" he says loudly as he stomps into the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror as he takes a piss and wonders, in order, if he's going to have time to stop for coffee, how exactly he might exact revenge against Bones for _kicking_ him out of his own _bed_ because geez, that's supposed to be a _figure of speech_ , and what idiot had the bright idea to put a mirrored wall behind a toilet and force Jim to watch himself _pee_ all year.

By the time he gets out of the shower, somewhat more awake though his eyes still feel like someone has glued sandpaper to the inside of his lids, Bones does not appear to have budged a single inch. Miracles have occurred, however; there's a clean uniform laid out over the back of his desk chair, and a steaming thermos of coffee sitting next to his PADD. "I still hate you," Jim informs Bones idly as he gets dressed.

Bones rolls onto his back and starts snoring.

 

 

His class starts at nine. By 9:10, Jim has realized a couple of things.

First, that he's completely at a loss for why Starfleet has seen fit to have a fast track Basic Warp Design course taught by someone who makes it obvious -- in the first _ten_ minutes -- that he has absolutely no idea what actually _happens_ inside an intermix chamber.

Second, that he hasn't fucked Bones in eight days, which is without a doubt the longest stretch he's gone since he _started_ fucking Bones in the first place.

Hell, it's _twice_ the longest stretch.

So in essence, things are seriously wrong in both his academic and personal life and something must be done. The first problem is easily resolved, at least, by happily deciding that his days for the next three weeks will now consist of ignoring the instructor in favor of nurturing his unblemished scholastic record in a more productive and results-oriented manner. He first puts ten minutes into brushing up on the Academy's procedures for appealing grades, since he doesn't trust this instructor to even recognize reality when it comes down to Jim knowing what he's talking about on exams.

He puts the next twenty-five minutes into drafting the latest reply in his ongoing conversation with the head warp core engineer at Riverside. Said engineer happens to not only have been a pretty fucking awesome dude to share a beer and a game of darts with before Jim up and bailed for Starfleet, but has been remarkably generous with his time in helping Jim nail down a finer understanding of the new dilithium crystal converter assemblies and how they differ on a fundamental level from the increasingly obsolete lithium crystal circuits. In Latham's view, the circuits were Stone Age pieces of _shit_ engineering more likely to make a ship fall out of the fucking sky sooner or later than actually power a voyage beyond the current boundaries of charted space; from what sense Jim has been able to make of any of it, he's inclined to agree.

That done, Jim decides that he has made completely ethical and on-point use of his class time, and once he sends the message decides to call it a morning.

Which leaves him free to use the next two hours to tune everything else out and consider his other problem. To wit: Bones has managed the impossible.

He's gone and made Jim _gun shy_.

That's the unavoidable conclusion, at least, given the prior night. He could maybe discount most of the last week as an unfortunate collision of circumstances, his being a compelling and recurring inclination to make an appearance at the many and varied year-end parties that kept popping up, and Bones's being the highly questionable decision to take advantage of sudden new free time by agreeing to be on call for like, every shift ever. Jim is not entirely sure how it wound up that being suddenly less busy left them actually busier than ever, but whatever. Shit happens. He's cool with that.

What he is not cool with is recalling, in vivid terms, the way that last night Bones had made a very unmistakable move to urge Jim in a very towards-his-ass direction, and Jim had suddenly and inexplicably chosen to ignore his dick's very enthusiastic approval of that plan in favor of opening his mouth and very emphatically saying, "kind of hoped you'd give it to me good tonight, Bones."

Bones just quirked an eyebrow, shrugged, and sidetracked Jim from thinking too hard about what he'd just done by flipping Jim flat on his back, slithering down the bed, and starting off the extended director's cut edition that was their night by giving a good go at sucking Jim's brain out through his cock. And given that that was just his _first_ orgasm (the second coming crouched over Bones's thighs, grinding down on his cock while Bones stroked him firmly and used his grittiest voice to _say stuff_ , and the third coming hunched over on his knees, gasping into damp cotton sheets, one hand braced against the wall and the other desperately stripping himself off until he came in a dry, body-wrenching _heave_ of sensation while Bones gripped his hips and pounded in) he should really, really be spending the day feeling exhausted and worked over and sore, but otherwise freaking _awesome_.

Instead he feels guilty and confused, both of which basically suck donkey ass. What he'd done -- the dodge, the diversion, the redirect of Bones's intentions into his own -- had pretty much broken...well, maybe not so much a _rule_ as an unspoken habit, that they go with the flow and in the silent negotiation of give and take and all that jazz, he who speaks first speaks last, or whatever.

And also, at the very least, there's that whole honesty bit that Jim is pretty sure means he should have just piped up with the truth. Which is: outside of the heat of the moment he's just really not sure what to do about Bones apparently being kind of a kinky motherfucker, maybe.

Because...well it's not that Bones wants what he wants, nor is it that Bones wants something Jim isn't willing to give him.

It's that Bones want _ed_ something Jim hadn't even _thought_ to give him. He hadn't noticed, hadn't paid enough attention.

None of this is at all how shit is supposed to work and Jim cannot abide.

End of story.

On the bright side, by the time class breaks for lunch he has a plan, one which reminds him that not all things have to be complicated and also that sometimes he loves the way his own mind works.

Or, okay, all of the time.

 

 

Instead of hitting the mess and throwing himself into the process of deciding who the hell to sit with today, Jim spends lunch cross-legged on the lawn, hunched over his comm and stuffing food into his mouth in between messages.

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 12:09:22

 _This isn't even fair. I didn't get a summer vacation!_

LMCCOY to JKIRK  
2256.155 12:15:01

 _Hate to break it to you, but acting like a child doesn't make you one. You don't GET summer vacation anymore._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 12:15:23

 _Who do I complain to about that?_

LMCCOY to JKIRK  
2256.155 12:18:47

 _Should you be, I don't know, paying attention to something right now?_

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 12:19:12

 _Lunch. Is that your nice way of telling me to leave you alone?_

LMCCOY to JKIRK  
2256.155 12:23:55

 _You read that in a nice tone? Suit yourself._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 12:25:00

 _BONES. I AM MISERABLE._

LMCCOY to JKIRK  
2256.155 12:31:14

 _JIM. I AM WORKING. FUCK YOU, YOU INFANTILE FUCKING FUCK._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 12:31:41

 _That was really mean. Dick move, Bones. Total dick move._

Bones stops being mean.

He also stops responding at all.

Ordinarily that would make Jim hate his whole stupid life some more. Fortunately, he's reasonably confident that he's well on his way to complete and utter victory, and he has a smile on his face as he lies back to enjoy a short nap in the sun for the remainder of his break.

Bones may have caused all this by throwing Jim for a rare loop, but he's sure as shit going to help resolve matters by being predictable as all hell.

 

 

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 15:52:33

 _This is the song that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on, my friend. Some people started singing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue singing it forever just because: this is the song that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on, my friend. Some people started singing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue singing it forever just because: YOUR TURN._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:01:23

 _WOULD YOU PREFER 99 BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE WALL?_

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:06:27

 _JOHN JACOB JINGLEHEIMER SCHMIDT?_

LMCCOY to JKIRK  
2256.155 16:07:01

 _STOP._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:10:56

 _HEY. If out of sight is out of mind, then how does absence make the heart grow fonder?_

LMCCOY to JKIRK  
2256.155 16:11:48

 _If how I'm feeling right now is any clue, it most assuredly doesn't. Leave me alone, Jim._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:13:00

 _No. I'm bored. If birds of a feather flock together, then how do opposites attract?_

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:16:32

 _No, but really, how on earth can anyone be better safe than sorry if it's nothing ventured, nothing gained?_

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:20:06

 _Do great minds think alike or do idiots seldom differ?_

LMCCOY to JKIRK  
2256.155 16:23:17

 _You're about the most unique idiot I've ever met, that's for sure._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:24:12

 _I choose to take that as a compliment._

LMCCOY to JKIRK  
2256.155 16:25:03

 _Case in point._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:32:41

 _Actions supposedly speak louder than words, but the pen is mightier than the sword? What the fuck, dude. Know what I think? Photon torpedoes are the loudest and mightiest of anything._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:33:21

 _Well, except for how I guess you wouldn't be able to hear them in space._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:34:10

 _But still!_

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:39:54

 _Boooooooones._

LMCCOY to JKIRK  
2256.155 16:42:58

 _I've got one for you: SILENCE IS GOLDEN._

JKIRK to LMCCOY  
2256.155 16:43:21

 _But...the squeaky wheel gets the grease!_

LMCCOY IS NOT SIGNED IN AND DID NOT RECEIVE YOUR MESSAGE.  
2256.155 16:43:22

Jim smiles broadly and feels so damn good about life in general that he actually pays attention for the last fifteen minutes of class.

 

 

When Bones gets back to his room that evening, he stops short at the sight of Jim sprawled out in the middle of his floor. "Jim?" There is only the slightest trace of inflection to counter the overwhelming flatness of his voice.

Jim would like to think that trace is a shade of concern.

He's pretty sure it's just incredulity, though. He opens one eye and lifts his head to peer at Bones. Bones peers right back at him, head tilting and a strange blend of ire and confusion on his face. Jim decides to test it out. "Nrrghhhaaaahhhh," he says, and drops his head back down.

Bones just nudges him with one foot as he walks past. "Move your fucking death throes somewhere else. You're in my way."

"What is with your sudden fondness for kicking me?" Jim demands. "I let you do unspeakable things to my body -- nay, my _temple_ \-- and this is the reward I get? _Ingrate_."

When Bones doesn't respond for way too long (five entire seconds) Jim sits upright to add the power of his sternest glare to the potent mixture of displeasure he's trying to exude. It has minimal impact, unfortunately, as Bones is going about his getting naked business and paying absolutely no attention. "Bones!"

"I'm taking a shower, Jim," Bones snaps. "Figure out dinner, would you? _My_ temple is famished and if you're sticking around, you're damn well gonna feed it."

Bones likes to shower with the door wide open to let the steam escape. Jim finds this a total waste of one of the awesome parts of a nice, hot shower, but it has the side benefits of being one of the innocuous things he can easily get Bones to vehemently to defend his preferences on, and making it super convenient to be sitting cross-legged on the toilet when Bones steps out of the shower.

He glares at Jim. Jim smiles and thrusts out the hand holding Bones's towel. "I ordered a pizza."

"There'd better be sauce on it this time."

"Are you ever going to get over that? Pesto _is_ a sauce."

"Pesto is a breath-fouling excuse to get shit stuck in your teeth," Bones says vehemently. " _Jim_. Personal space. Observe it."

Jim shrugs at the first part, ignores the second part, and stays close on Bones's heels as he leaves the bathroom. "I got pepperoni. Told 'em to put mushrooms on half."

Bones glances at him, his expression softening a little. "Thanks." His frown deepens again almost immediately. "Why are you _hovering_ , for Christ's sake?"

In lieu of answering, Jim steps even closer and steals the kiss he's spent the better part of the day wanting. Bones responds easily, like instinct, and Jim snakes his arms around him, sinks a hand into his hair. It's still sopping wet and dripping down his back, plenty of water left for Jim to squeeze out with a tight grip. "God, today sucked," he mumbles.

Only Bones, Jim thinks, could manage to make kissing him harder seem like a rebuke. "Yeah, for me too," he grumbles when he comes up for air. "Thanks for asking, asshole."

Jim leans into him and decides to exhibit great restraint by not pointing out that Bones _always_ has a bad day and this is therefore nothing novel, however utterly lame it happens to be. "I know," he says simply. "Mushrooms, remember?"

Bones bites his lip. Hard. "Mushrooms do not even begin to make up for the amount of crap I've had to deal with today, Jim, no small part of it straight from _you_."

"Me letting mushrooms anywhere near anything I'm planning to eat is a fucking miracle from on high and you should show it proper respect, Bones." Jim grins and steals another fast kiss as he runs his hands appreciatively up and down some, frankly, very appreciable biceps. "Besides, that's not my apology. That's 'you're awesome enough for me to make that incredible sacrifice in your honor'."

"Lord almighty, did you just admit that you _do_ have something to apologize for? Stop the presses, the goddamn world just ended."

"Wah-waaaaah," Jim says cheerfully. He wonders, idly, if it could be considered... _weird_ , that he'd happily take a rancorous insult or two from Bones over a compliment from pretty much anyone else. Probably, he figures; but then again, who the hell cares? He adds, "The apology aspect might not mean much, since I did it on purpose."

Bones smacks his hand away just as he tries to get sneaky about twitching his towel loose. "Did _what_ on purpose?"

Jim doesn't answer, not directly. Far too easy. "Step one of my plan, of course." He takes advantage of Bones's virginal, modest clutch at the towel to sneak his hands around and grope his ass, pressing their groins together. "Which takes us to step two. Which is brilliant, if I do say so myself."

"You would," Bones snorts. But his eyes have gone dark and interested. "Jim..."

With a wink, Jim lets him go. "Step two is _dinner_ , dude. You said you were hungry!"

"Damn it, Jim!"

Oh, yeah. Totally brilliant.

This, Jim thinks with satisfaction, is gonna be _good_.

 

 

"So let me see if I've got this figured out," Bones says, dropping onto his couch. "You define brilliance as pissing me off, assaulting my health with nutritionally objectionable food, and then...sitting around fiddling with a computer instead of, say, _interacting_ in some way? This is step three, I take it."

"Hold on," Jim says. Given the giant glob of pizza in his mouth, it comes out sounding more like "whore ungh," but Bones just nods and keeps mum. Jim chews, swallows, taps a few buttons on his PADD. "Sorry. Studying. Well, putting the finishing touches on my epic takedown of Commander Kravitz. Same diff. And totally different plan, so not step three, not at all."

"Do I even wanna know why you're plotting against an instructor after _one_ day?"

"Because his employment is an insult to my fragile, impressionable mind." Jim shrugs. "It's not so bad, I swear. He's not even gonna cry...I don't think. This time, anyway."

"Arrogant ass."

Jim hides a smile. Bones really makes this shit far too easy. "That's exactly what he is, yes."

"I meant _you_ ," Bones supplies, right on cue. "Are you _done_ yet?"

"Yeah, sure." Jim tosses the PADD aside. "You're totally off the mark, by the way. _Completely_ missing the point of the first two steps."

"By all means, please enlighten me," Bones says with a roll of his eyes. "I can't fucking wait."

Jim plasters on a condescendingly patient look. "Step one, okay, was making sure you had a lot of aggravation to burn. Step _two_ was making sure you had a lot of energy to burn. Step _three_ ," he concludes, and lets his expression shift into a suggestive leer, "involves the actual burning. A lot of it."

Bones's nostrils flare. "Does it, now."

"Uh-huh."

With a pinched look that says nothing to Jim so much as that Bones just cannot _help_ but be fond of him, Bones reaches and wraps one warm, dry palm around the back of Jim's neck and drags him into a precarious lean that makes him kick one leg out for balance even as Bones's lips brush his. "No," he mutters roughly, and lets Jim shift clumsily to wedge up against his side and twist into a better angle, "I mean, does it _now_?"

"Well, if you're in a _hurry_ or someth--mmngnng." It is, Jim discovers, humanly possible to talk, laugh, and have someone else's tongue in his mouth at all once.

None of it actually works very well, though. He immediately pinpoints the problem as an overtaxing of resources and diverts all of his efforts into accommodating said tongue, which is slick and warm and pretty damn insistent about getting what Bones wants. Which is, evidently, for Jim to shut up and get on with things already.

Jim's on board with that. He is also emphatically okay with the slow tilt, the adjustments, that end only when Jim is flat on his back with Bones holding himself up on braced hands as he dips his head for long kisses, grinds their hips together slowly. Jim hooks one leg up around Bones's ass and slides his hands up the warm expanse of his back under his t-shirt, cups his palms over his flexing shoulder blades. "Bones," he mumbles eventually. "You're fucking up the plan, man."

Bones noses his cheek aside and mouths wetly under his jaw. "I'm sure you'll figure something out, smart guy like you."

"Okay, that was _totally_ a compliment." Jim arches to help Bones shove his shirt up with flat hands pushing up his stomach and over his chest, and drops his head back as Bones circles one nipple with the tip of his tongue. "Admit it, your faith in me is like, _epic_."

Bones bites his chest instead. No matter, Jim thinks. He knows it's totally fucking true. Bones hitches his knees in and drags Jim's ass up his thighs, scoops his arms under him and hauls him up. Jim grunts at the pressure against his cock as he settles into place on Bones's thighs. He tries to kiss Bones; Bones tries to get his shirt off. It's sort of a clusterfuck of tangled limbs for a second, but Jim's never been one to think the fun of sex lies solely in smooth moves and practiced ease.

It's in the fumbling, too, and the puzzling it out, each and every time. He peels Bones's shirt up and wraps his arms around him and gets the kiss he wants, lewd and sloppy. "Wanna fuck you," he pants. Bones drags his teeth across Jim's lip, digs his fingers into Jim's back, and groans.

Translation: _oh hell yes_.

 

 

The thing about Bones -- well, there are a lot of things about Bones, the vast majority of which make Jim, in turns, happy, amused, amazed, _be_ mused, and horny. But the thing on occasions such as the one at hand, the thing about Bones when he's bareass naked and sprawled on a bed, is that he does it without pretense, or self consciousness, or anything but a languid comfort with his body and the prospect of things to come.

It kind of blows Jim's mind that Bones would ever have held back, about _anything_. But whatever. _Bygones_. Dwelling is pretty much a waste of time, especially when there's the very viable alternative of crawling between Bones's legs and making dessert of his cock.

Better than cake, that's for sure. And Jim really _likes_ cake.

Being the efficient sort that he is, he uses the opportunity of having Bones spread out and content to get him nice and stretched, too, works his fingers in with slow thrusts and twists them, scissors them, crooks them until Bones tightens his grip on Jim's hair in silent warning. "Hold your horses," he laughs, pushing up onto his knees and wiping a mess of drool from his chin.

Bones just makes a face at him and wraps a fist around his glistening cock, jacks it slowly while Jim pushes his legs around so he can scoot in and slot his own cock against the warm, slippery skin of Bones's ass and lean down to trace wet patterns on his chest, careful not to cage him in too closely. Bones tucks his free arm under his head and Jim happily explores his armpit, and the bumpy ladder of his ribcage descending to the excellently ticklish spot on his flank that makes his breath catch. "Jim," he gripes, in an aggravated tone that just makes Jim smile against his skin. "Is your plan to torture me, or fuck me? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I was banking on the latter."

Jim lifts up on his arms and tries for a reproachful frown. He's pretty sure he fails miserably, given how Bones rolls his eyes. "Hey, you're the one always saying how patience is a virtue."

"There is not a single goddamn virtuous thing about what I want right now. Patience can go hang for all I care."

Jim snorts and rolls his hips in a close press. Bones leaves off his cock to push up onto his elbow, reaches to wrap his other arm behind Jim's neck and pull him into a heated kiss. "I mean it," he mutters. "And you damn well owe me for last night, dickhead. So come _on_."

"Okay, okay!" Jim laughs. Bones falls back and watches through narrowed eyes as Jim drizzles lube on his cock and smears it around, and when Jim finally presses the head into place and starts pushing forward, he exhales on a long sigh and lets his eyes shut entirely. Another of those things, Jim supposes; these first few moments are practically the most peaceful Jim ever sees him get. He slides his hands under Bones's ass and lifts to help himself sink deep, watches closely as more and more of the customary tension fades from his face. "Happy now?"

"Yeah," Bones breathes, rough and low. "No, make that hell, yeah."

Yeah, _right_. Jim keeps his hands gentle, though, rubs slowly up and down Bones's thighs as he starts thrusting slowly, shallowly. It's nearly impossible not to just have at it; it's _been_ awhile, okay, and he may not be sure how exactly the space of a week became a fucking eternity when it comes to measuring the intervals between being balls-deep in Bones, but it _did_ and he's hot and tight and Jim's cock is wholeheartedly endorsing the concept of some quick and dirty friction, already.

But there is a _plan_ , Jim reminds himself. There is a plan and he is sticking to it. He wraps a hand around Bones's cock and strokes it leisurely, playing his thumb over the slit and behind the head. "Really?" he asks idly. He lets his hips work just a little faster, lets each thrust get just a little longer. "Hm."

Bones's abs twitch appealingly as his cock leaps in Jim's hand. "What the fuck does that mean, _hm_?"

"Nothing," Jim says innocently. He switches abruptly to a jackhammering rhythm that hits the exact right spot, makes Bones arch and buck up into the tight squeeze of Jim's grip. "Just thought you might want to take me up on that promise I made, but hey. If you're _happy_ like this, far be it from me to -- "

"Jim," Bones groans. "You fucking bastard, you know damn well I want -- _fuck_ , harder, just like that, don't -- don't stop, don't --"

Jim stops. He pulls out entirely, in fact, and while Bones is busy cursing him to hell and back, he just snickers and puts some muscle into making Bones turn over and tuck one knee in close for lift. "Spent half the day thinking about this," he admits, straddling Bones and shoving back without prelude. Bones grunts as his back bows down and his cheek skids along the sheets. "Had a total boner in class. Coulda gotten embarrassing if --"

"If you had any concept of embarrassment?" Bones growls. He reaches back to feel for Jim's leg, to urge him on, and Jim smiles brightly at the convenience and grabs his wrist, wrenches his arm behind his back. "Ungh, _fuck_."

"Uh-huh." He's got the perfect leverage, Jim finds, to work his hips in rolling surges and maintain a hard but steady pace. He grabs for Bones's other arm and yanks it back, too, and when he's got both forearms arranged in a neat fold across Bones's lower back he leans into it, puts his weight into keeping them pinned. Bones breathes raggedly against the bed and struggles a little, bucking with each slap of Jim's cock until his leg slips back and he flattens entirely, groaning as his cock gets pinned. "Fuck, yeah, there you go," Jim gasps.

He finds himself suddenly, irrationally annoyed that this hadn't been _his_ idea, first. It's that fucking perfect, all Bones's ire and strength _useless_ against anything Jim wants to do, and knowing that he _wants_ it that way, that it's making Bones jerk and grunt and fucking _love_ having Jim fuck him for all he's worth.

Jim hates not being the one to come up with the really good shit, seriously. But no matter.

The result's all the same in the end. Heat crawling under his skin and pressure building low and deep and the sense, as he leans in and licks a long line up Bones's back to his neck, tastes the tang of sweat, that he's about to lose all control over this and -- yeah, there it is, pulsing contractions tearing through him and Bones just keeps taking it without a whisper of protest, just a deep noise and body-wide tremor as Jim's orgasm sets him off, too.

No, yeah, as long as one of them is having the bright ideas, Jim is happy to roll with it. "You're a fucking genius," he mumbles into Bones's shoulder, pretty sure he never wants to move again.

Bones manages to drag his arms free, but seems content to stay put after that. "Whatever, Jim," he mutters. "More like you make me fucking stupid."

Jim musters the energy from somewhere to peel himself away and collapse onto his back. "Well," he sighs happily. "Guess that answers that, at least."

"Hm?"

"Great idiots flock together."

This time Bones shoves him out of bed. Jim lies on the floor, laughs, and decides to call that an improvement.


End file.
